A/N: Surprisingly, the previous chapter took me just a day to construct. I've read the Iliad, and is it just me who find it weird that the gods are referred to by their roman names when Rome hasn't even been founded yet? Oh well. I do hope the previous chapter was good. But yeah, here's chapter sixteen 3

PERSEUS leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the still waters before him. The lake refused to move. He groaned, rolling his eyes and falling back into the leaves and soil behind him. It was still dark, but, unable to sleep, the son of Anchises had left his quarters and ambled into the forest. To try to set his plan in motion — at least, before Selene arrived with whoever she thought could aid him. He pursed his lips, mind drifting. He was…he was a son of the sea god. His lips curled at the thought alone, but he pushed away the bitterness which threatened to envelope him.

Decades had passed. He had been holding on to his grief and anger for a long time. He had moved on, somehow. Learnt to live with it. But he had never forgotten. Never forgiven.

Perseus sighed, shutting his eyes and trying to recall…anything. Her. His mother. The image that popped up in his mind was blurry, frayed at the edges. He couldn't remember her face. Just the sweet voice, singing him to sleep. Those arms, wrapping around him as the water swallowed them whole.

Enough.

Why didn't the water respond to him?

Well, he hadn't ever tried before, had he? He did have powers, didn't he? Perseus frowned. Again, a theory he'd never tested. He had some distant memories, of swimming in lakes and coming out dry, those early days in the forests with his two best friends. Did that count? He'd never actively willed the water to do anything. Gods, this was useless. He'd never be able to. Sitting up, he stretched out a hand. Wouldn't hurt to try again. But maybe he hadn't inherited any powers from his birth father.

No. He had. He remembered, ten years back, when he'd realised what Apollo had done to him. He'd caused an earthquake, unwittingly. Hades, he hadn't even realised it. He did have powers, then. Maybe they were just dormant? Locked away because he had refused his true heritage for next to so long. Maybe Selene's friend would be able to help. Perseus bit his lip and concentrated. His eyelids fluttered, and he tried, so hard, to bring back that gut-wrenching pain he'd felt on the beach all those days ago. He had to try. He couldn't give up. Not when he could use this power to decimate the Achaean forces with a flick of his wrist. He couldn't let such an opportunity slip between his fingers.

He hadn't told Hector or Aeneas about his idea. Better to not give them any false hope, in case his plan never came to fruition. Besides, he would prefer to see the shock rippling on their faces if he was able to use the raging sea to conquer their enemies.

The green eyed man felt it then, a slight tug, and his outstretched arm wobbled. His gaze locked onto the still lake before him. Slowly, a grin stretched across his features as a thin line of water rose from the lake. Perseus shifted his arm to the left. The water mimicked his movement, curling around itself. He wiggled his fingers, swearing to himself. The water rippled. His forehead was already beaded with perspiration.

"A good start for someone who claims to have never wielded the might of the seas before." The voice made him jerk, and over the lake the water turned limp and cascaded back into the lake. Perseus turned his head slowly, his surprise fading when he spotted the familiar dark haired immortal behind him. But she wasn't alone though, and neither was she the one who had spoken. No, today Selene had come with a companion. The dark haired man slowly rose, then dropped down to his knees in reverence, head down. "I'm sorry, I did not feel your arrival. You surprised me, Lady —."

"Galateia," The woman inclined her head. "Oh, get up Perseus." He slowly rose to his feet, eyes drifting to Selene first. She looked as beautiful as ever, ethereal, even. Her hair was free again, and he had to admit, he liked it this way. Her silver eyes glinted, and she wore an intricate set of silver and white armour, underneath a black cloak. She nodded to him in greeting, and then he pulled his eyes to the newcomer. She had hair as dark as the night sky above them. Her eyes were bright green, much like his, her skin pearly, lips blood red. A small circlet adorned her head. It seemed to be made of kelp. She had angular features and wore a shimmering white gossamer dress lined with blue and green. The smell of the ocean hit him, making Perseus wobble on his feet. Her skin had a slight bluish hue, and there were…gills on her neck.

"Perseus," Selene moved forward. "You asked for me to get you a teacher. This is Galateia, she's a —"

"Nereid," He breathed. Perseus met the gaze of the water spirit. "It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lady."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," She grinned, showing razor and shark-like teeth. "I'll admit I've been dying to meet the son of Poseidon who has caused my sister Thetis and her spawn so much trouble this past decade."

Selene snorted. "Apparently Thetis won't stop talking about you."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Is that a good thing?"

"She's Achilles' mother," Selene adjusted her cloak. "She's probably trying to find ways to kill you."

"Oh," He pursed his lips, eyes darting back to Galateia. The immortal being laughed at his expression. "Do not worry, young one. No one knows of my presence here today, except for us."

"That's good," He nodded. His gaze drifted back to the Titaness. "Thank you." He couldn't stop the immense gratitude that enveloped him or the warm feeling which seemed to wrap around his head. He felt woozy.

"You're welcome," She smiled, a small smile which she rarely showed, even to him. Galateia was still observing him, and the demigod swallowed, allowing her scrutiny. He was dimly aware of Selene moving away from them to the trees, and leaning against a trunk. She observed, eyes trained on both of them. The nereid's eyes glinted. "Okay. You want to learn to use your powers." He nodded. Her lips parted and she spoke, her voice sliding over him like music. "You want to hear the song of the waves. You want to be one with the seas." His head bobbed once more.

"And yet," the Nereid walked around him in a slow circle. "And yet, you despise your father. You shun your heritage and scorn your blood." She bared her teeth as he stiffened. "That must be rectified, son of of Poseidon."

"Anchises is my father," He frowned at the woman.

She barked out a laughter, inhumane. Was this really the best person Selene could get? He tossed her a look over his shoulder, and she smirked at him. Perseus turned back to the woman, who had stopped in front of him. She leaned forward. "Your blood says differently, god-born." He could feel her breath fanning his face.

"And so do I," He clenched his jaw, refusing to lean backwards. Refusing to give in.

"You'll not be able to access the full might of your power unless you let go," She warned. "Let bygones be bygones."

"If Poseidon wants my forgiveness he should come and beg me for it himself."

"Oh, when I start with you, we'll see who'll be doing the begging," She pulled away, laughing. "Baby steps, Perseus." The woman paused. "I will teach you what you wish to know. I will show you how to bend the sea to your will. But you must listen, and you must obey."

"Two things I'm definitely not good at," He said, dryly. "But I'll try." Perseus heard Selene laugh. Galateia echoed the sound. Hers hit him like a roaring wind over a churning sea.

"Oh I like you," She nodded, approval shining in her eyes. "You and I are going to have so much fun together."

~ • ~

AENEAS sat at the head of their forces at they marched to meet the Achaeans on the plain in front of the city walls. The Greeks were fast approaching, but even from far away, he could see that their numbers had dwindled, though not too considerably. Apollo's plagues had worked, and the Greeks had lost about a quarter of their forces topestilence. He could see them forming lines, their Kings and commanders at the front. He spotted Menelaus, Agamemnon. He saw Greater and Lesser Ajax. Old Nestor, ferocious in battle despite his age, Abantes, Menestheus of Athens, Odysseus and Agapernor of Arcadia. All the usual front liners who were still standing.

But no Achilles.

Aeneas frowned to himself. What was the Prince of Phthia playing at this time?

Beside him, Hector rode on his valiant steed, his jaw clenched, face hard. Aeneas caught Perseus' eye at their friend's other side. Perseus raised a brow in question, and Aeneas' frown deepened. His brother looked tired, a wondrous feat for immortals, surely. But there were bags under his eyes, although the fire in his gaze was still burning bright. Beside Perseus rode Paris.

It was the Prince's first time on a battlefield, and Aeneas could feel the nervousness rolling off him in waves. For ten years Paris had lounged back in Troy as the other Princes and Generals did his fighting for him. He was older now, but no less of a bastard, and the Prince had raged and whined when Hector's father had declared that he was to go with them that day. All of the King's court had just watched him throw a hissy fit. But there was nothing to be done about it. Aeneas quite agreed with Priam. It made no sense that good noble men died while the cause of their predicament lounged in bed with his stolen wife and watched the battles from the Palace Balcony.

The allies of Troy were arranged neatly around the Trojan soldiers themselves, following behind their commanders, swords aloft and spears thirsting for blood. His own Dardanian forces were behind him, led by his generals Archilochus and Acamas, two extremely skilled warriors who would lay down their lives for him. Lycaon's son Pandarus of Telea rode at the right flank with Deiphobus, Hector's own brother. Helenus rode at the left flank with Adrestus and Amphius, the Princes of Adrestria, high in the mountains. Aeneas spotted Asius, Hippothous, and Peirous, the only General from Cicilian Thebes who had escaped with his men all those years back during the siege. His eyes continued roving across the roughly fifteen thousand strong army that followed behind them, eyes landing on the last of the generals, Sarpedon and Glaucus of Lycia. The Greek army had been reduced to about ten thousand, from the twenty thousand warriors that had come with them ten years back.

Numbers made his head hurt, so Aeneas decided not to distract himself any longer.

"Achilles is not amongst the men," Hector noted.

"Yeah," Aeneas nodded. "I noticed."

"What do you think he's planning this time?" The Heir Apparent glanced at him, a sour expression on his face. Aeneas knew what worried him. Andromache was still very much heavily pregnant, and Hector was worried for his family. The son of Aphrodite placed a hand on his armoured shoulder and squeezed.

"Something bad, of course," Perseus piped. "Just leave him to me. If he shows, that is."

"He will," Hector seemed sure. "I don't think it's like Achilles to miss a fight."

"Maybe today we'll be lucky," The green eyed demigod murmured.

They continued to watch in silence. Beside Perseus, Paris drummed on the pommel of his sword with his fingers. "Maybe I can end this," He muttered. The curly haired Prince turned so he could face Hector. "Brother, I have an idea."

"Let's hope it gets you killed," Perseus snarked.

Paris ignored him, choosing instead to roll his eyes. He said, "I can fight Menelaus."

At this, even Aeneas laughed. "What? No you can't, Paris."

"I can," He said, adamantly.

Hector pinched the bridge of his nose, but didn't scoff, like Perseus did. "And what, brother, do you hope to achieve by this?"

"A challenge. A fight to the death. Whoever wins takes Helen and ends this madness."

"Menelaus will kill you," Hector told him, quietly. "No matter how much you irk me, I cannot watch you die. You are my brother." Aeneas smiled slightly at that. But Paris shook his head.

"Better me than any of you. All of you." His bottom lip quivered. He was afraid. Aeneas didn't know where this sudden spike of bravery was from, but it made him despise Prince Paris a bit less. Even if he was the one who started all this.

"Ten years, Paris," Perseus voiced, in an equally low voice. "You could have ended this ten years ago."

"I was…afraid. I still am," He admitted, meeting the General's eyes. Aeneas had always had a weak heart, and at Paris' words it softened. "But I'm tired. I'm…I'm tired of all of this." He met Hector's eyes once more. "Please. brother. Trust me. I'll kill him. Just let me try."

Hector looked torn. He bit his lip, and turned to glance at Aeneas for his counsel. The Dardanian King studied the younger Prince. And then he nodded at Hector. His best friend sighed, then shut his eyes. "Very well." His eyelids flickered open and he exhaled, his hold on the reins of his horse tightening. Hector spurred his horse into action and slowly, it descended down the hill and into the centre of the plain. "Give the order to hold off for now."

Beside him, Perseus motioned to their men with his fingers, and about a dozen of them of them nocked arrows into their wooden bows. Covering for Hector, as he approached the lines of the enemy. Aeneas' unease increased, and beneath him his horse skittered. Hector had raised his hand as he rode forward, and at the enemy lines, Agamemnon raised a fist at his men to stop them from shooting when he realised that Hector wanted to speak. With the silence of the two forces, his voice was audible and loud. "Trojans and Achaeans, thus says Alexander my brother, through whom this quarrel has come about. He bids the Trojans and Greeks lay their armour upon the ground, while he and Menelaus fight here, and now. A fight to the death for Helen and all her dowry. He who shall be victorious and prove himself the better man shall take the woman and all she has, to bear them to his own home, and the rest of us, both Greeks and Trojans, shall make a solemn oath not to harm the other party. We each go to our homes. We end this now."

The Achaeans were silent. Aeneas leaned forward in his saddle, watching, waiting. He breathed out, feeling his nerves fraying. Menelaus, Odysseus and Agamemnon had met and were discussing amongst themselves. If they refused to accept, Hector was directly in shooting range. But then Menelaus trotted forward in his bronze chariot, pulled by two horses with razor sharp teeth. "And now,' he boomed, voice carrying across the terrain, "hear me too, for I was the one who was wronged, and it is my wife who was taken. It seems we are about to go home any ways. Our parting is at hand, and we have each suffered heavy losses to our people for my quarrel with Paris and for the slight against the House of Atreus. I shall fight him. He who shall die shall die, and the others fight no more. But first, sacrifices. A white ram and a black ewe, and a third for the sire of men and gods, Lord Zeus. And may you bid Priam to come, to swear this covenant himself." He paused, eyeing Hector. "For his sons are ill to trust, and I would be more at ease that way."

Murmuring, from both sides of the beach. Aeneas slumped down in relief when Hector turned, and slowly galloped towards them.

Paris had turned white.

When Hector reached them, he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Go forth, then. And may the gods be with you." Paris nodded jerkily, and kicked his horse in the side. Slowly, he moved, and Aeneas felt pity for the young son of Priam as he rode, onward, embracing the oncoming death.

~ • ~

HE LEANED forward once more when Menelaus jumped out of his chariot. The other man was burly and bulky. He towered over Paris, his dark hair tied in a ponytail, his bushy beard hiding much of his face. But there was fury in his eyes, as he finally came face to face with Paris. The King of Sparta wore blood red armour, a complete intricate set, a circlet on his forehead. His meaty hands were clasped around a spear which was twice the size of Hector's brother. A sword hang at his side and a rectangular shield was latched to his other arm.

Paris wasn't going to win this.

Beside Aeneas, Hector groaned, "Oh, gods."

"This was a bad idea," Perseus admitted. "He'll be butchered."

Aeneas, ever the voice of reason, said, "And then the war ends." He didn't like his own words, it made his mouth feel sour. But Paris had been right. Surprisingly, he had spoken with honour and valour. And what he had said was purely truth. Aeneas really did hope he came through, though. Or else all his mother's efforts on the son of Priam would have been wasted. And the champion she had picked over him would be dead.

The son of Aphrodite scoffed internally. Some champion. Paris hadn't even seen battle before. Over the years, Aeneas had come to accept that Paris was his mother's favoured. But it still didn't stop his bitterness, as he recalled that she had only deigned to see him when she needed him to deliver the Prince safely to his father. Maybe Paris' death wouldn't be so bad after all. He stilled in his seat, swearing to himself. What was he thinking? Paris was his brother-in-law. No matter how much he disliked him, he was doing the noble thing now. Even though Menelaus would shred him to pieces. He knew it was hopeless, but still. They had to put some faith in Paris. He had gods watching over him. Maybe he would come through.

Maybe he would survive.

Hector's father and about twenty guards were returning from the middle of the plain, where they had just treated with Agamemnon and his men. The covenant had been made.

"I shouldn't have let him go," Hector murmured.

"It was his choice," Perseus shrugged. "You couldn't have stopped him."

Menelaus and Paris met, and Aeneas was vaguely aware that Helenus had gotten some of his men and had already began offering the sacrifices the Spartan had requested, on the plain. In a matter of minutes, he was done communicating with the gods and the other Prince motioned for the two royals to continue. Aeneas watched, eyes trained on the scene before him. Paris' bronze armour was one of the best Troy had to offer. He had a bow and quiver slung over his shoulders, and a sword at his belt. A circle shield with a sun emblazoned on its surface was linked to his arm. His spear quivered in his hand.

Aeneas saw Menelaus utter a few inaudible words to the son of Priam, and then he charged.

The entire field was silent.

Menelaus swung his spear for Paris' head, and the younger man threw up his shield up, catching the blow. But the force behind it was enough to send him backtracking in the sand, and then Menelaus was on him again, attempting to run him through. But whereas the Spartan had brute force and strength to rival many, Paris was smaller and faster, and so he sidestepped. But the Greek anticipated this and slammed his shield into Paris. The prince stumbled and tripped over his feet. Menelaus roared and drove his spear downwards, but then suddenly the spearhead fell off, impaling the ground beside Paris' head.

Hector gasped.

Perseus bared his teeth. "Interference."

The Spartan bellowed, and Paris rolled aside just as the King drew his sword. The Trojan mimicked his movement, ditching his spear, and Menelaus charged him. They clashed, bronze against bronze, in a flurry of sparks, and then reared away from one another. Aeneas watched with bated breath as they met once again. The clang of metal against metal filled the air, and Menelaus gritted his teeth and with brute force, hurled Paris away from him. The young prince sailed through the air and slammed into the ground. Hector winced.

Menelaus stalked forward, sword arm outstretched. Aeneas couldn't hear what he said, but he was sure it was something along the lines of 'We end this today, scum.'

Paris scuttled back, too dazed to stand on his feet and the Greek King swung his sword. But the most amazing thing happened then, and Aeneas' eyes widened as the metal drooped and split into three, like a banana peel. Gods. Perseus swore from beside him. Menelaus yelled out in outrage. "Oh, great King Zeus, why you do and your court protect him so? Why do you stand against my House and prevent my victory?" Above them, the air crackled. Menelaus turned to Paris. "No matter. You die today."

He stalked forward.

Hector shut his eyes, but Aeneas could only watch. Horror was plastered on his face as he beheld the well built warrior grab Paris by the horsehair plume of his helmet. And begin to drag him back towards the Greek lines.

Paris struggled. He writhed and kicked. His lips were parted in a scream but no sound came out. Fear shone through his eyes as he clawed at something—his neck.

"The helmet latch," Perseus' eyes were wide. "It's choking him."

Hector's eyelids fluttered. Aeneas squinted so he could see properly, just as the latch broke and Menelaus hurled Paris into the greek lines. Or at least, attempted to. The son of Priam, choking, sobbing, scrambled away. Then he got on his feet and ran, like all the demons of Hades were after him. Menelaus snarled as the lone helmet went airborne and drew two knives from his side. He was too slow to chase after Paris. And Hector was shaking his head in disappointment as his brother raced for the Trojan lines.

But they couldn't offer him sanctuary. Not after the oath. The fight had to end. One of them had to concede. One of them had to die.

Menelaus let lose a shout and hurled his knives. They sailed true, ripping through the air, as though carried by a godly force, whirling straight for Paris' back, and if Aeneas squinted properly, he could see a shimmering barely visible armoured figure—a woman—behind the Spartan King. Pallas Athena. And then he saw her behind him, a blur of flowing red hair, glowing blue eyes, a hand with skin as smooth as milk, also shimmering, also barely visible. Aphrodite appeared and she grabbed Paris by the scruff of his tunic and whisked him away, in a cloud of pink light and howling wind. Plucked him from the jaws of death, just as Menelaus' knives impaled the sand where Paris had been standing before.

~ • ~

AENEAS stiffened in his saddle. At the other side of the terrain, the Greeks were roaring in outrage, weapons out, shouting and screaming bloody murder. Menelaus looked furious, as he wiped sweat off his brow. Aeneas watched as Agamemnon raised his fist once more, and the lines of Greek soldiers quietened. The High King rode forward in his chariot, slowly. His eyes were burning, and beside the Dardanian King, Hector frowned. The Heir Apparent kicked his horse in the side, and began to move towards the sons of Atreus.

Perseus swore under his breath and spurned his horse into action, Aeneas following his lead not a second later. His eyes were trained on the two Achaean brothers who stood side by side, murmuring in low voices to themselves. Hector's back was ramrod straight, and around them, the wind was still howling, pushing Aeneas' hair into his eyes. Together, they descended down the hill, the tension in the air only increasing as the two armies faced each other and watched with bated breath.

Finally, Hector raised a hand. They stopped, only a few feet away from the two leaders of their enemies.

Agamemnon's stare was hard, lips in a thin line as he said, "Your brother turned tail and ran." Conveniently leaving out the fact that he had been aided by an Olympian.

Hector nodded, sharply. "I cannot speak for Paris, or praise his actions. He is a coward. But by all rights, he lost."

Menelaus studied them. "I would have killed him."

"It doesn't matter," Hector spoke. "If Paris died or not. He forfeited the battle when he tried to escape."

"I want his head," The Spartan bared his teeth. "And I want you to honour your oath."

"We will give you Helen, and all the wealth that came with her," The dark eyed Prince said. "And per the agreement we made, Paris' life is in your hands. The war is over." His voice cracked at his last words, and Aeneas frowned at the sand. He couldn't imagine being put in the position Hector was in, thanks to Paris. He couldn't imagine having to willingly give up his brother to Thanatos. Even if he had hated him.

Except, Perseus would never allow such a thing to happen. He wasn't a coward. And Aeneas could never hate him.

Thoughts continued to swim in his head as Hector and the Kings continued to speak. He had given Paris the benefit of the doubt. He had told them to trust him. To have faith. And Paris had ran.

Usually, he was a very good judge of character. But in this case…

Agamemnon pulled the reins of his chariot and the horses neighed, rearing. The King's brother jumped in, and they began to turn. The Warden of Mycenae looked at them appraisingly, and tilted his head in acknowledgement to Hector. "You will make a fine king someday."

Hector didn't bother with a response. Aeneas wrapped his hands around his own reins again, ready to pivot and move back to the Trojan lines. Just as he turned, he saw Pandarus nock an arrow. He saw the shimmering form of Aegis-bearing Athena once more. His eyes widened, and the son of Aphrodite released a string of curses as Priam's grandson fired.

The projectile cut through the air, and sailed past him, the fletching rubbing his cheek as it went. As it soared, and landed right at Menelaus' turned back.

~ • ~

THE EFFECT WAS instantaneous. A ripple in the Greek lines, a roar from Agamemnon, the two armies surging forward, writhing, screaming masses of men and steel, the devils kept at bay by the Treaty unleashing themselves onto the battlefield. Aeneas drew one of his swords in an instant, his brain reacting before he could fully process what was going on. Hector, full-blown panic etched on his face swore and grabbed his spear, spinning it in his hands and raising his shield arm to block a strike from an oncoming lance. Perseus was already in action, his horse rearing and his sword coming down in an arc of destruction and death.

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" Hector bellowed. But the armies had already met. The fighting was already going on in earnest. To call for a retreat now was to call for defeat. The Greeks would not let them go. They would chase them back till they trampled them underfoot and destroyed the walls of their beloved city. From the corner of his eyes he could see Pandarus on his horse, a surprised look on his face as if he was awakening from a dream. Just as Diomedes drove a spear through his neck and hurtled away on his horse.

Aeneas' instinct took over, one hand still on the reigns of his horse, the other flipping his sword in his hand. An oncoming Graecian with wild eyes swung for him from atop a horse. Aeneas leaned to the side to avoid the strike and twisted in his saddle, swinging his arm to slice off the man's wrist. The enemy's shriek was cut off by his sword in his throat. Aeneas tore out his weapon, just in time to parry another strike, and pushed back his attacker in Hector's waiting spear. He nodded to his friend and shouted, 'Hiya!' and then he was shooting down the battlefield, cutting down men as he went, his sword working as though it had a mind of its own. He trampled the Greeks, slicing off limbs, and lopping off heads.

The wind whistled in his ears, tearing across his face. Aeneas' eyes were burning and his blood was rushing. Bloody gods. Interfering in every bloody thing. Causing problems for all of them. He pulled back the reins of his horse, making it neigh and whirl to the side as a spear whirled through the air and impaled a soldier behind him. The battlefield was already running with blood. He could hear screams and cries. The air smelt of iron, and the demigod was already panting with exertion. He turned his horse, making to race back to Hector and Perseus once more. He was surrounded by bodies already, both Trojan and Greek, and the atmosphere was filled with sounds of metal against metal. Aeneas' blood was rushing, his head swimming. Arrows were being fired from both sides of the fray, and he had to raise his sword to cut off a few which would have ended him.

His steed was already galloping, and he was still fighting, ferociously, his mind on nothing but the oncoming enemies. He glanced around, and then his eyes locked on the King, Diomedes, cutting through men at his left. Making a path towards him. Diomedes held a sword and a shield, and the soldiers coming up against him stood no chance. He spotted Aeneas looking and waved with his sword, before sticking it through a Trojan soldier's neck. Aeneas swore and began to gallop towards the king.

Diomedes threw back one of his assailants and darted forward to meet him. As he moved, Aeneas let out a roar, raising his sword to meet the Greek in combat. As they got close, he slashed. Diomedes ducked under his swing, and still running, sliced at the flank of Aeneas' horse. The noble steed reared and Aeneas yelped as it came crashing down. He rolled over the ground and got to his feet as Diomedes sliced downward, narrowly avoiding the strike which would have taken off his head. Aeneas was breathing heavily, layered with sweat. His hair was matted and sticking to his head, but he drew his second sword.

Diomedes grinned at him, and charged.

They clashed, sword against sword, Aeneas' breath turning laboured as Diomedes bared his teeth at him. There were no words exchanged. No taunts, nothing. Aeneas pushed back with all his strength and the man went stumbling. He dashed forward, attacking quickly and ferociously, swords a blur of bronze in front of him. But Diomedes was fast. He raised his shield in an instant, and Aeneas' sword slammed into it with enough force for a ripple of pain to shoot through his arm. But he didn't relax. As Diomedes backtracked Aeneas slammed his sword forward again, and again, each of his strikes being parried by the King's sword or shield.

Diomedes attempted to run him through but then Aeneas reacted quickly, his right sword blocking the strike. He twisted his arm and Diomedes' sword fell out of his hand. The man swore and leaped back as Aeneas slashed at him once more. The other king panted, eyes darting around. And then he shot forward. Aeneas waited for him to come, and readied himself as Diomedes plucked two fallen swords from the dead bodies around them. The battle raged and thundered, the sun steadily rising in the sky.

They collided once more, and then reared away, then clashed, then pushed each other back. Then they met once more, in a flurry of hacks, stabs, slashes, fighting with a savagery which even Aeneas wouldn't understand later. He blocked, parried, stabbed, and dodged, hacked and sliced. They littered each other with cuts, they blocked off their swords with their vambraces. His armour saved him more than twice.

Diomedes was a skilled fighter. He was favoured by the gods, and Aeneas' arms were beginning to shake under his assault. They couldn't keep up with this forever. He released a breath through his parted lips as Diomedes shifted on his feet to attack his left flank.

Aeneas realised his mistake too late as he moved to block. The King pivoted on his heel and slashed at his arm, tearing a huge gash through his skin. Aeneas let out a yelp as Diomedes' other hand came and smashed into his back, sending him sprawling. Aeneas twisted and raised his sword to parry the strike he knew was coming, but the push had startled and dazed him, and Diomedes smacked one of of his swords out of his hand. Aeneas righted himself on his feet, still panting. They darted for each other more.

But he was tired. This time, he didn't last long. With two swords, Diomedes had the upper hand, and without a shield Aeneas couldn't defend all his sides as once. He tried. Diomedes struck quickly and precisely, harshly, and his best efforts were in vain as pain shot through his wrist and his weapon went clattering to the ground. Swearing, the man stepped back and Diomedes smiled to himself, moving to attack once more.

A feminine hand clutching a long sword seemed to appear out of thin air, and Diomedes' swords slammed onto the weapon. Some unseen force sent the king back, throwing him a few feet. Aeneas' eyes widened as red hair fell out of a helmet, a woman in a white gossamer dress and a bronze breastplate appearing before him. Vambraces lined her wrists, and the goddess Aphrodite twisted her sword and turned to give him a nod. Her eyes flashed with power. Creusa's eyes. And then she turned back again to his enemy, who looked uncertain and shifted on his feet.

"Goddess," Diomedes spoke, finally. "You are not to interfere in the matters of mortals."

"When it comes to matters concerning my son," Aphrodite looked ethereal, and her voice was like a cascading waterfall. She tilted her head to the side, studying Diomedes like he was an insect she could crush underfoot. He probably was, to her. "Not even Jove can keep me from interfering." His heart stuttered, a flurry of emotions wrapping around him, too fast to recognise.

Diomedes frowned and fear flashed in his eyes. "Very well." Releasing a breath, he charged the goddess of love.

It was the most beautiful thing Aeneas had ever seen.

Aeneas watched, starstruck as his mother fought. It wasn't really a fight. Diomedes stood no chance. Not against an immortal goddess. She danced around him, eyes blazing, clothes billowing around her. Her hair was flowing in the wind as she lazily blasted the mortal back with bits of power and cut him up with lazy flicks of her sword. Her silver, beautiful weapon was like an extension of her body, as she quickly disarmed Diomedes, sometimes on the ground, sometimes hovering. Aeneas was aware of some others stopping to observe the battle. In a matter of two minutes Diomedes was weaponless, his chest rising and falling.

Aphrodite stood over him, a sword on his neck. With a flick of his wrist the king was on his knees. "Lady Love," Diomedes' voice shook. Aeneas blinked, and moved forward slowly to join his mother. The battle was slowly picking up around him. He could see Perseus, bloodied and huffing, riding towards him. Hector was somewhere to his left, his heavy roar reaching Aeneas' ears. "I beg you to spare my life. Forgive me, for daring to raise arms against a goddess. Forgive me for my impudent tongue and my proud heart which thought it could stand against you."

Aphrodite looked at him through powerful eyes. Eyes through which Aeneas could see the difficulty immortals faced, trying to understand his kind. "Your life is not mine to claim, mortal. And my son is not yours to kill. Raise your sword against Aeneas again and I don't care what gods speak for you. I will strike you down."

Diomedes hung his head. Aphrodite shot him a glance, and Aeneas couldn't stop the small smile which spread across his face. Aphrodite reached for him and he felt himself being to unravel, that same feeling from all those years back when Apollo had flashed them to Ida. He didn't see Diomedes till it was too late.

The King shot to his feet, a small knife in his hand and Aphrodite let out a small gasp as he sliced at her outstretched hand. His blade slashed through her godly palm and Aeneas' eyes widened as ichor fell, right before Aphrodite's magic spirited both mother and son away.

A/N: Here's another chapter. Not as long as I would have like but yeah. Enjoy.